


Casual Nighttime Strangers

by jessethejoyful



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Late at Night, M/M, i love that that's a thing, idk how to tag this, they keep running into each other at a grocery store, this is for the cobb on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessethejoyful/pseuds/jessethejoyful
Summary: When you’re practically nocturnal, establishments that are open during the ungodly hours of the night become your safe haven.And when you’re more lonely than you’d care to admit, that bloke you keeping running into in the middle of the night ends up being exactly what you need.For Baz Pitch, that’s a companion - and for Simon Salisbury, that’s a dream.





	Casual Nighttime Strangers

**BAZ**

Twenty-four hour markets are a fucking lifesaver. 

I’ve never liked doing my shopping during the day - so when a twenty-four hour shop opened down the street from our flat, I was overjoyed.

Once a week, always at or around two a.m., I go in, take my time. I wander up and down the dimly-lit aisles, and don’t have to worry about anyone bothering me or getting in my way. It took one too many times of a grouchy mother of three shoving her trolley in front of mine, trying to beat me to a bag of crisps, to get me to this point. 

But I’m always awake at two  _ anyways _ , so I figure there’s no harm in at least being productive during those ungodly hours.

It quickly became my favorite part of my weekly routine. Not because I particularly enjoy shopping - but because there’s something peaceful about being out at that hour, able to pretend, even if it’s for a short amount of time, that I’m the only person awake in the world. The only person  _ alive _ . (And then some pissed idiot will stumble by me, and I’m brought back to the reality of it all rather brutally.) 

Tonight is one of those quiet, still nights. The air is still thick with the midsummer heat, but it’s far more bearable at night than it is during the day. I don’t run into a single person until I actually enter the shop, and nod brusquely at the bored young man at the check-out. It’s the same fellow that’s always here at this time; I think his name is Sam. I have to keep myself from checking  _ him _ out, every time I come in. 

The store is completely empty apart from us. I’m meandering down one aisle when I hear the automatic sliding doors open, accompanied by the soft digital chime. I don’t look to see who it is, mostly because I can’t really be bothered.

But that’s when the singing starts. 

_ “Is this the real life?” _ the voice sings, starting off quietly.  _ “Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality…”  _ It sounds like whoever it is (a guy, by the timbre of his voice) is in the aisle right next to mine. He actually has a decent voice, hitting all of the familiar pitches correctly, and I stand still for a moment, listening close. Is he actually going to do the whole song? 

_ “Open your eyes, look up to the sky and see…” _ He trails off for a moment, and I think he’s through, so I startle when he belts out,  _ “I’m just a poor boy! I need no sympathy!”  _

The curiosity is killing me. I’m too tired to be annoyed by the interruption of my peace, so I leave my trolley behind to sneak to the end of my aisle and poke my head around for a look.

I was right, he’s right there - and I’m immediately disgusted, because of course he’s fucking gorgeous. A head full of bronze curls, tawny skin even in the shit market lighting, covered in freckles and moles, a jawline that could kill a man (namely me). Absolutely appalling. He doesn’t even have a trolley, he’s just carrying several items tucked under his arms. Items he’s apparently forgotten about, because now he’s dancing in the aisle with his head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut as he sings the next line of lyrics. 

_ “Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me… to me.”  _ As he reaches this part in the song, he starts miming playing a piano with his hands, and his eyes finally flicker open - and lock onto me, gaping like an idiot from the end of the aisle. “Oh. Hello!” 

I stare at him for another beat before realizing how absolutely mad I must look. I straighten up and snap, “Keep it down, would you? You’re not the only shopper here,” and then high-tail it back to my items. I can hear him blustering from the other side of the shelf, so I race to grab the rest of my things and shove them at Sam at the register. 

“You hear that guy singing?” he chuckles good-naturedly, apparently unaware of my severe discomfort. “Sounded really good!” 

“Fantastic,” I hiss, shoving my card into the reader. “Just brilliant.” He gives me a funny look as he’s handing me my receipt, and I barrel out of the door without another word, bags dangling from my arms.

My face is hot and I can feel the color rising in my cheeks; I’m blushing all the way back to my apartment, and I slam my way in the door. I throw my purchases down and lean heavily against the counter, crossing my arms and glaring at a distant corner of the room. 

I don’t know why I always snap like that at people. It’s humiliating and not good for  _ making friends _ , something Agatha’s been trying to drill into my head for months since we moved into this flat together. 

Whatever. I find comfort in knowing I’ll never see Rhapsody Boy again.

 

**SIMON**

This new job has been absolute murder on my sleep schedule. 

I signed on to this odd job at a factory, just labor, where I go in to work at six in the evening and work for eight hours, doing whatever they need me to do. It pays really well, and I only work a few nights a week, but it’s fucked my sleep straight to hell. I sleep basically all day, wake up at five, and go in. I’ve started having to do all my normal daytime things at two, three in the morning when I get off. 

That’s why I was so chuffed when a twenty-four hour market opened a street over from my flat. I can still get my shopping done, and get to sleep soon afterward. 

It’s been brilliant so far. I’ve gotten to know the clerks sitting at the cash register; there’s two of them that swap off nights during the week, Sam and Keris. I met Keris’ girlfriend the other night, Trixie. She was sitting on the conveyor and teasing Keris when I came in.

Tonight I’m feeling a little grouchy, because work was a lot today and all I want to do is crawl in bed. And I’ve got a song stuck in my head for some reason, Queen’s  _ Bohemian Rhapsody _ , and it won’t fuck off.

I wave at Sam as I duck in the store, not picking up a trolley today because I’m just too tired to care. I usually just tuck everything under my arms anyways. 

Because I’m pretty sure it’s just Sam and I in the store, I don’t feel any inhibition to try and get this damn song out of my head. I just start singing, and I’m reminded of what a great song it really is, and I really start getting into it. Dancing, belting it out with my eyes shut, reveling in the genius that is Queen. 

So I don’t realize I have an audience until my eyes flash open. 

It’s a bloke, standing and staring at me in the middle of the entrance to the aisle. He’s the kind of good-looking that makes him almost scary, with high cheekbones, dark, flashing eyes, and deeply tan skin.

“Oh,” I say, because I can’t think up any other kind of greeting with this guy staring me down. “Hello!”

He’s clearly startled by my noticing him, and in the span of a couple seconds, his expression shifts from dumb-founded to positively disgusted. “Keep it down, would you?” he growls, and I’m immediately taken aback. “You’re not the only shopper here.” 

The guy disappears back into the other aisle before I can say anything, shocked by that sudden mood shift. Who the hell acts like that at two in the morning? Or at all? I’ve never seen someone go from zero to one hundred so fast. 

Now that I’m listening for it, I can hear the squeaky wheels of his trolley as he zooms around the store - and I stay out of his way, not wanting another interaction like before. I wait until he’s out of the store to take my items and pay. 

“You’ve got a great voice, Simon,” Sam says kindly as he’s scanning. “I think you spooked that guy, though. I’ve never seen him in such a snit.” 

“You know him?” I ask, rummaging through my backpack for my wallet. 

“Yeah, I think his name is Tyrannosaurus or something, saw it on his card once. He’s in here on Tuesday every week, at around the same time. Usually in a much better mood.” 

“Tyrannosaurus? No way. No way that’s his name.” 

Sam holds up his hands. “I’m just telling you what I saw, mate! Come back next week and ask him yourself, if you want.” 

I consider this as I take my bags and say bye to Sam. The guy was fucking fit, I’ll give him that, but so aggressive that I might just be better off staying the hell out of his way.

 

**BAZ**

It’s embarrassing to alter my schedule based upon one negative interaction, but not nearly as much as it would be to run into that guy again. So the next week, instead of going to the store on Tuesday, I go on Wednesday - at three a.m. I’m not proud of my blatant avoidance tactics, but it’s for the best. 

“I think you’re being overdramatic, Baz,” Agatha says to me before she goes to bed. She’s wearing an elegant pink robe, with her long blonde hair balanced in a perfect ballerina bun atop her head. “More than usual. Just apologize to him; I’m sure he’ll be understanding.” 

I tilt my head up at her from where I’m lying upside down on the sofa. “Or - and hear me out on this, Agatha - I could  _ not  _ do that, and continue to avoid running into him again, as I am already doing.” She just sighs heavily at me and continues on to bed.

At the store, it’s someone other than Sam at the counter, a black girl with big hair whom I don’t recognize. I still nod at her as I pass by, just to be nice. 

“Hi there, welcome in!” she says in an alarmingly cheerful voice, far too cheerful for this time of night. 

“Uh - hello,” I manage, pausing for a second with my trolley, and hear something clatter to the floor at the back of the store. We both turn to look, me craning my neck to see what caused the sound - and see none other than the bloke from last week, staring at me with wide eyes in a flushed face, his mouth hanging open stupidly. He must suddenly become aware of it, because he clicks his mouth shut and disappears back down the aisle. 

“Do you know Simon, then?” the girl at the register pipes up, smiling at me. I suppose that’s his name, then. 

“No,” I grind out, tightening my hands on the trolley bar. “Not really.” She looks alarmed, taking a step back, and I grimace at her before I continue to the aisles. The whole thing is complete bollocks, and I’m kicking myself for thinking that changing my schedule by one night was going to help me avoid this guy. 

I get to the end of the next row and he’s there, peering at something on one of the shelves. I can tell he spots me, because his shoulders (broad, tight under his jacket) stiffen, and he’s clearly not reading whatever he was looking at anymore. I heave out a sigh and back myself out, then move to the next aisle. But as I’m walking slowly down it, looking for the baking powder Agatha requested, Simon starts up this aisle as well. 

“I’m not leaving again,” I say tightly, not looking at him. 

“Wha’?” he says in a thick voice, and I level him with a glare. “Oh, no, you don’t have to. Look, I just - I wanted to apologize. For the other night? The singing? That song had been stuck in my head all day and was driving me absolutely bonkers. I had to try and get it out, you know? That works sometimes with songs, singing it to get rid of it, but I still had that one stuck in there for the rest of the week.” 

He’s rambling, probably because I make him uncomfortable, which is fair. I can’t believe he’s apologizing to me, after all that I was the one who basically shouted at him just for singing. 

“I - that’s alright,” I say slowly, furrowing my brow slightly. “Simon.” He grins at me.

“Did Keris tell ya my name?” he asks, chuckling, and I tilt my head at him. 

“The girl at the front?” Simon nods. “Yes, she asked if I knew you. I told her no.” 

This also makes him laugh. I suppose he must find me very funny. “Well, you know me better than I know you. What’s your name, then? It’s only fair.” 

Neither of us are shopping anymore, both just standing in the middle of the aisle for this casual chat. It’s almost more than I can bear at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“Basilton.” I flinch. I don’t know why I gave him my full name. He immediately looks surprised. 

“I guess Sam  _ was  _ wrong then,” he says, shoving his hand through his hair. “He said your name was like Tyrannosaurus, or something like that. Something he saw on your card.” 

I feel my face grow hot; Sam is no longer within my good graces. “My first name,” I say, teeth clenched, “is Tyrannus. It’s a family name which no one addresses me by.”

Simon looks confused. “So Basilton is your last name? Tyrannus Basilton?” 

The longer this conversation goes on, the more shot my nerves are becoming. “My full name is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” 

For some reason, he looks absolutely gleeful. “Oh man,” he says, laughing again and leaning toward me. “That’s one helluva name you’ve got there. But I swear I’m not making fun; mine is nearly as bad.” 

“I don’t imagine that’s true,” I say drily, trying not to be insulted. It’s definitely not a great name, but it’s traditional. 

“My full name is Simon Snow Salisbury.” Simon beams at me like it’s the funniest thing in the world, and I have to admit he’s got a point. 

“Your middle name is  _ Snow _ ?”

“My mum thought it would be funny. ‘Everyone should have a silly middle name, Simon,’ she told me.” 

“Does she have a silly middle name, then?”

“Yeah. It’s Winifred.” We both stare at each other for a beat, and then cut up with snorts of laughter, the kinds of sounds you would only expect to hear from two terribly sleep deprived people. But when the laughter fades, it’s awkward again, and Simon starts rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I should finish my shopping. I’m glad we got to talk though, you’re pretty cool.” 

I can’t help it; I smile shyly at this. “You’re not so bad yourself, Salisbury.” It might just be the lighting, but the guy looks like he’s blushing as he gives me an awkward wave and starts back down the aisle, throwing me another grin over his shoulder before he disappears into the next one. 

And I’m left standing there, feeling like my heart’s going to pound out of my chest at the thought of golden hair and that stupid fucking smile. 

 

**SIMON**

“Simon!” Ebb calls from behind the bar, where she’s polishing glasses, as I step through the door. “Good to see ya mate, ‘s been a while! Thought you were avoiding me.”

I hop up onto one of the stools, smiling at her. “I’d never avoid you, Ebb. Things have just been really busy, y’know? Good, mostly, but busy.” 

“Busy is better than boring, in my experience,” she says with a sage nod, sliding me a glass of water. I never really drink when I’m here, I mostly come to talk to Ebb and whoever else is at the bar. But it’s quiet tonight, barely anyone milling about in here. I tried to talk my roommate Penny into coming with me, but Ebb annoys her. 

“Actually, can I have one of those drinks you made me before? I don’t remember the name. With the gin and lemonade?” 

“Pimms number one, love,” Ebb chuckles, going to make the drink as the door opens behind me. I glance back, vaguely curious, but I do a double take when I realize I recognize the bloke. And he’s looking right back at me. 

I give him a weak wave. “Aye, Basilton. Fancy seeing you here.” 

He approaches cautiously, like he’s unsure of whether or not it’s too late to flee. But he sits on the stool one down from mine, and I try to ignore the empty space of the chair between us. “Salisbury. Haven’t seen you for a while.” It’s true; I’ve been so busy with work and starting classes again that I’ve actually been going to the store at normal people hours. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen him. 

“Yeah, things have been wild. Between work and uni starting up again, I’ve had to start shopping during the day. It’s awful.” 

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Why’s that, then?”

“I’m a relatively friendly guy, but people at the mart  _ test _ me, y’know? Don’t pay attention to where they’re going, or their kids, or where their trolley is - it makes me mental, having to skirt around them all the time.” I rub the back of my neck, trying to keep myself from going on too much - something Penny teases me for relentlessly. 

“I know what you mean. That’s half the reason I do so much of my shopping at night.” 

Ebb has disappeared, so the guy can’t even order a drink. I squint at him. “Yeah? Are you normally just up that late or something?” 

He shrugs, looking almost uncomfortable. “I guess. I don’t do a lot of - sleeping. Most of the time.” 

“Like at all?”

Basilton furrows his eyebrows at me. “You ask a lot of questions.” 

“Er - sorry. Don’t mean to be nosy.” I look away, twiddling my thumbs, and thankfully Ebb comes back a moment later. 

She passes me my drink and beams at Basilton. “Ahoy! Can I getcha somethin’ to drink, love?” 

He looks surprised to be addressed, taking in Ebb’s shock of blonde hair and somewhat bedraggled appearance. “A whiskey, if you don’t mind. Whatever you’ve got.” I never noticed it much before, but he’s got a very posh accent, like he comes from money or something. With a four word name like his, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was some kind of an aristocrat’s son. He’s got the look of it too, with that elegant brow and expensive-looking clothes. 

But what kind of rich kid does his shopping at three in the morning?

“I have trouble sleeping,” he says suddenly, after Ebb’s given him his drink and disappeared into the back again. I nearly jump, because I wasn’t expecting any kind of explanation. “So I try to use the time I’m stuck awake doing things that could be considered ‘productive’.” 

“Oh,” I say dumbly, looking at him again. He’s staring down into his drink, not at me, and then throws the whole thing down his throat with only a small wince. “Right.” Then he looks at me. 

“Why do you shop so late? If not just to avoid the masses?” He sounds genuinely curious, his head tilted to the side and making his dark hair fall into his eyes. Deep, bottom-of-a-lake grey eyes. 

I swirl my drink around for a second before I reply. “I work a job with weird hours; go in at six and get off around two. So it’s easier for me to go to the store in the middle of the night rather than during the day when I’m sleeping.” 

He wrinkles his nose at this. “And you mentioned uni, right? How do you make time for it all?” 

“It’s not so bad as it sounds. I get home around three or four, sleep until eleven, have a few hours of classes, then go to work. And I don’t work every day, so it’s alright.” I snort. “Mostly. I’ve become so weirdly nocturnal that it’s hard to keep up with a lot of people. It’s kinda like I live in a different time zone. I only see my roommate because we have some classes together.” 

Basilton nods, and we both fall silent momentarily, and I take a deeper drink. 

“You can call me Baz, by the way,” he says quietly, glancing at me. “If you want.” 

“Better than Basilton, huh?” 

“Maybe.” 

I grin. “Alright, Baz it is then. You should call me Simon.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s my name.” 

“So is Salisbury.”

“It’s my  _ first _ name. You might not go by yours, but everyone calls me Simon.” 

He narrows his eyes at me. “Maybe I don’t want to call you what everyone else calls you. What about Snow?”

I cringe. “I don’t love it.” 

“Hm.” 

“You’re a bit of a contrary bloke, aren’t ya?” This earns me my first real smile, and it spreads across his face and brightens him up like a light. I’m floored by it. 

“I’ve heard that a few times.”

Ebb comes back and gives him another drink, winks at me, then disappears again. My face gets warm. “Do you come in here a lot then? I can’t believe I’ve never run into you before, considering how often we are now.” 

“Three times isn’t that many,” he says drily, and I frown at him. “This is my first time coming here. I don’t drink often.” 

“Me neither,” I agree. “I’ve come in here enough, though, to get to know Ebb. She owns this place, and I don’t think she has any other employees. It’s only ever just her, so we chat a lot.” 

When Baz speaks again after a moment, his voice has taken on an almost sour edge. He must be at least a little tipsy, after downing his second drink in one as well. “Do you ever bring your girlfriend with you?”

 

**BAZ**

I instantly regret that second drink. The words are out of me before I can stop them, a question I hadn’t meant to voice. 

Simon is obviously taken aback, his eyes widening at me dramatically. “Girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend. Do you?” The question sounds snappy, like mine upset him. 

“No,” I say slowly. “Not a girlfriend - or a boyfriend, more like.” 

I can tell it takes a second for my words to settle, and his mouth drops open in a ‘o.’ It’s too late for me to realize that I’ve practically given myself away, that in saying I’d have a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend I was revealing the reasoning behind my nosing. I’m thinking about this way too much. 

“So you’re gay, then?” This was a mistake. A huge fucking mistake. His voice is carefully even, his eyes touching everywhere but me. 

“Yes,” I snarl, throwing down a wad of cash and getting to my feet. “Good night.” I trudge out the door and into the street, my head thick from the alcohol, because I don’t drink as much as I used to and I’ve lost my tolerance.

“Wait!” Simon’s voice stops me and I turn dizzily, just as his mouth crashes into mine. I barely have time to process it before my hands are moving, pulling him to me and slamming him against the wall of the bar. I’m just taller than he is, and he’s stretching up to keep our mouths even. “Baz -” 

“Shut up, Snow,” I growl, my hands shoving underneath his shirt. His skin is smooth and warm underneath my hands, the feeling of muscle underneath a soft layer of chub. 

He’s laughing, his arms wrapped around my back and gripping my shirt. I bite his lip, and he starts giggling so hard that we have to stop kissing. “Hang on, hang on, Baz - we’re drunk.” I trail my lips down his neck, sucking at his skin. 

“That’s fine,” I whisper. “I’m not drunk.” 

“You so are,” Simon whispers back, still laughing. “We should go home. It’s late.” 

“It’s always late,” I say, finally lifting my head to look at him. His face is half-lit by the streetlamp, and I can just see the flush of red in his cheeks. “I live just down the street.” 

His eyebrows lift. “You’re inviting me in?” 

I kiss him again, hard. “We’re drunk. Fine. But I find I sleep better with someone beside me.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring at me. I don’t break the gaze, meeting his eyes quietly but with a firm set to my mouth. 

“Alright, then,” he murmurs, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “Lead the way.” Then he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles so lightly it sends a shiver down my spine. 

We start down the street hand in hand, and pass nobody. It’s so late. It’s late, and there’s a beautiful boy on my arm who’s following me up my staircase, through the door of my flat and into my bedroom. He barely has to dip his head to press his lips to my shoulder as he closes the door behind us, and I struggle to speak. “You can have a pair of my joggers, they’re loose on me anyways. But I don’t want you stretching my shirts.” 

“Are you calling me fat?” His voice sounds more amused than offended. 

“No, you’re just broader than I am. It’s disgustingly attractive.” He lets out a bark of quiet laughter and I go to rummage through a drawer, then throw a pair of slate grey joggers at him. He catches it deftly and strips off his shirt with absolutely no hesitation. I can’t tear my eyes away, and he knows it. His chest solid and wide, and just as covered in freckles and moles as his face is - and a jagged scar down one side of his chest. 

“I usually sleep shirtless anyways,” he breathes as I step closer to him, running my hands across his chest and reminding myself to breathe. I lower my head and kiss along his sternum, and hear him take in a small gasp above me. Rough hands lift my chin and our lips press together again. 

He changes trousers in silence, the quiet of the flat and my room pressing in around us, but it’s not uncomfortable. I feel like I know Simon, like I know who he is, despite knowing virtually nothing about him. He sits on my bed and watches me digging through a drawer for my own nightclothes, another pair of joggers and a t-shirt. 

“Is everything alright?” I ask him softly as I more shyly pull off my shirt, half facing away from him. He reaches out and grabs my hand before I can put the other one on, gently pulling me down beside him. I’m thinner than he is, lanky where he’s thick, and as he’s dragging his eyes down my chest I’ve never felt more unattractive. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that, right?” The words make my heart hitch in my throat. Simon closes the small gap between our faces and kisses me again, this time with his hand rubbing against my stomach in small, soothing circles. I don’t know if it’s the drinks, or the time, but I’m dizzy at his touch. And I’m  _ tired _ . It’s agony to break away but I do, forcing myself to get up and change into the joggers I laid out. 

He stretches out on the far edge of my bed and I clamber in beside him, deciding to leave my shirt off too because he exudes warmth, a living space heater, where I’m always freezing. But when I wrap my arms around him and press my face against his chest, and he wraps himself around me, I’ve never been warmer. 

 

**SIMON**

I wake in the morning to a room so dark I’m not fully convinced it’s morning. The blinds are drawn and covered with thick curtains, so the only evidence I have is the small amount of light feeding around the edges of the window and the time on my phone, which reads 9:32 a.m. I can’t figure out why my room is so dark - and then the person in my arms shifts, muttering in his sleep, and I remember that I’m not  _ in  _ my room. I’m in Baz’s bed. 

My face feels hot again. I wasn’t too drunk last night to forget things, so I remember chasing him out of the bar and literally throwing myself at him. I remember following him home and falling asleep with him against me. I remember how  _ right _ his lips felt against mine. 

Everything felt right. Even after all of his snark, the barriers he had put up - underneath, he’s just Baz. And I know him. 

He doesn’t seem like he’s waking up any time soon, so I doze for a while with him curled up against me. His hair’s a mess, falling in his eyes and splaying across my chest. I can’t help it - I push my fingers through his hair, and it’s as silky as it looks, but the movement jerks him awake. He sits up, eyes flying wide in confusion, and I’m reaching out and holding his arms, hushing him. “It’s alright, Baz, it’s me. It’s Simon.” 

Baz stares down at me, not registering me for a long moment. When he finally does, he deflates and drops, his face pressing into my neck. I put my arms around his narrow shoulders, because it seems like he needs the reassurance, even though I don’t know why. The panic in his eyes was real. 

Eventually he lifts his head again, pressing his lips once, softly, to my neck.

“Y’alright?” I murmur, lifting a hand to shove his hair back again. He leans into my hand like a cat might, and I have to keep myself from chuckling. 

“Fine,” he says, and I can just barely see him in the dim light of the room. “You?” 

“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” He sits up fully and shakes his hair out, then pushes up from the bed. I sit up against his pillows and watch him stretch, the muscles in his back shifting and tightening as he does. 

He turns to me. “Do you mind if I go have a shower? I always feel gross when I drank the night before.” 

“No, of course not, go for it.” Baz nods and grabs some more clothes before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind him. I sit there for a second before springing up with the resolve in mind to make us some breakfast, because that’s what you do when you sleep over with someone, right? 

His kitchen is somewhat stark, very clean surfaces and orderly cabinets. It doesn’t take me long to find everything I need, and I’m cracking eggs into a pan when I hear someone step in through the doorway. 

“That was fast -” I start, looking around, and nearly drop the egg I’m holding when I realize it isn’t Baz. It’s  _ Agatha _ . 

She’s staring at me, just as baffled as I am. “Simon.” 

“Ags!” I exclaim, because I’m too startled to do anything else. “Uh - hi!” I can hear the water turn off in the distance, and my entire face is on fire. 

“Hi, Simon,” Agatha says slowly. I’ve known Agatha for years, and I’ve never been more mortified to run into her unexpectedly. Baz didn’t mention he had a roommate - or that it was my  _ ex-girlfriend _ . Granted, we only dated for a few months before realizing how weird it was, but  _ still. _ “How are you doing?” 

“Good!” I’m far too chipper, and I wince at the high pitch of my voice. “Uh - we weren’t -” 

She puts up a hand. “I really do not need details, Si. Don’t worry about it.” She comes fully into the kitchen and leans into the fridge, pulling out cream to put in the coffee I’d brewed. “I knew when I heard noises in the kitchen this early something was up. I usually never see Baz before noon.” 

I poke at the eggs in the pan, still blushing furiously. “How long have you guys been living together?” 

“A few months.” Agatha sits at the small table pushed into the corner. Her presence explains the perfect order to everything, though from the cleanliness of Baz’s room, I suspect they’re both neurotics. “It’s been nice. Baz is a good roommate, and we’re on practically opposite schedules.” 

“He didn’t even mention he had a roommate,” I say slowly. “And neither did you! I can’t believe you never mentioned him, I see you twice a week.” She, Penny, and I all get lunch on the days we have classes, every week.

“I guess it just never came up.” A door opens down the hall, and I hear Baz’s footsteps as he approaches. Agatha and I are both staring as he steps into the room, he stops and looks between us. 

“... Ah.” I gape at him. 

“That’s all you’ve got?” I say, brandishing my spatula at him. “You don’t warn me about your roommate - and then it turns out to be  _ Agatha _ ?” 

Baz looks at Agatha, raising his dark brows. “You know each other?” 

“We went to high school together,” she says, raising her eyebrows back at him. “Dated for a few months, too.”

“Hm.” I’m blown away that this is all he has for a reaction. He even comes over and presses a kiss to my jaw. 

“For fuck’s sake, Baz,” I say, glancing at Agatha, who’s already looking at her phone. 

“Stop being so reactive to everything,” he whispers, squeezing my sides before going to take some of the coffee. 

 

**BAZ**

Simon leaves after we eat. The eggs he made were surprisingly good, and there was enough for Agatha to have some as well before leaving for her job, and we were alone again. 

“Baz,” Simon said, standing by the sink and looking sheepish. “I just - I’m wondering -” 

“Out with it, Snow,” I drawled, sounding meaner than I intended. He didn’t say anything else, dropping his chin to his chest and clenching his fists. “Look - I’m sorry. What’s on your mind?” I got to my feet and went to him, taking one of his hands and gently pulling apart the fist. 

He looked up at me, and for the first time I realized his eyes are blue. Not any kind of fancy blue, shot with other colors or deep like the sea - just blue. “What is - this? What’s going on?” He gestured between the two of us with his free hand, then cupped my jaw. “‘Cause - I like ya. A lot. If that wasn’t obvious. Even all that I don’t know you that well and you’re a right prickly bastard.”

I paused before answering. “It seems to me that we’re figuring things out. Getting to know each other. Is that enough of an answer for you?” 

He nodded slowly, then leaned forward to press our lips together. “And snogging.” 

I laughed quietly, taking his lower lip between my teeth for a moment. “And snogging.” 


End file.
